More Than Good Enough(32)

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes what?”

“She’s my girlfriend.”

He nodded like he knew all along. “Okay then. Thanks for being honest.”

Ten minutes later, the cop was leading Pippa to the car and pushing her into the backseat like a criminal. I stood there feeling helpless as they passed the mailbox at the end of our street—a metal box strapped to a giant paperclip-looking thing, defying gravity and logic. I couldn’t stop thinking about Pippa, who was sitting where I’d been just minutes before.

My mind shuffled through a montage, as Mr. Bones would call it: Pippa kissing me inside the abandoned missile base. The weight of the motorcycle rumbling beneath us. Her skin, warm against mine.

I wanted zombie powers more than ever. I’d run straight to Pippa’s window and carry her to the Everglades. We’d learn the secrets that only gators know: the stillness of things, waiting for just the right moment, as we sank beneath the surface.

There were no trees at the end of my block. Only a canal laced with weeds. I didn’t have magical powers. I couldn’t even shape my thoughts into words. The cop had done all the talking. He’d told Dad that I was walking a fine line. He’d seen it before. And I better stay away from girls if I knew what was good for me. But there was something he didn’t understand.

Pippa was good for me.

The day after the “incident,” Dad went back to his usual bullshit. He didn’t apologize for freaking out. He didn’t talk about what happened. He just revved up the blender and gulped his stupid protein shakes.

I stayed out of his way, as much as possible.

In my cave, I read magazines about black holes and the mysterious force known as dark energy. I didn’t want to go back to school, but compared to sitting around the house, it was starting to look semi-endurable. Plus, I was missing Pippa like crazy. I tried calling her cell a million times, but it always went straight to voicemail. Either she hadn’t paid her crackberry bill or she was completely ignoring me.

Could I really blame Pippa for cutting me off? She must’ve been scared out of her mind. I doubt that she’d ever seen shit like that. Unfortunately, it was becoming part of my daily existence.

By afternoon, Dad was acting nice again. He was all like, “Let’s get some new tires for the Jeep.” And “How does pizza sound for dinner?” It was totally bizarre. So I’d just nod at him or slide my way out.

Meanwhile, a bruise had leaked across my cheekbone, like somebody attacked me with a Sharpie. My ribs still throbbed whenever I coughed. Worst of all, there was the shame of what Dad did to me.

Dark energy.

That’s what I was made of.

I stared at the marks on my body and planned my revenge. First, I’d slam my fist into his teeth. Then I’d pound him so hard, he’d need his jaw wired shut. That way I wouldn’t have to hear his stupid lies anymore.

On Monday morning, I crashed so hard I didn’t wake up in time for class. Okay. That’s an understatement. I stayed passed out until late afternoon. My spirit was definitely in the land of the dead. When I woke up, I heard Dad yelling on the phone.

“Who’s in charge of that school?” he yelled. “A pack of morons?”

At least that’s something we could agree on.

It didn’t take long to figure it out—I’d gotten suspended for skipping. So the school was like, “Trent’s failing all his classes,” then they tell me to stay home. Yeah, that made a lot of sense.

Here’s the equation:

Avoiding Dad + School Suspension = 0

I grabbed the keys to the Yeti. Fast-walked through the living room. Dad had finally stopped yelling. I listened for his boomy voice. Hard to believe he used to sing in a band. His vocal cords were shot to hell. Yeah. Mr. Rock Star. Living the dream.

Dad was standing near the kitchen window. He must’ve felt my stare, the laser beam of hate pouring into his neck. “Think you’re special? Is that what your mother told you? That’s why she put you in that special school, huh? A music school. What a f*cking joke.”

He moved in my direction. Until right then, I hadn’t even looked at him. I was way too freaked out. His massive gut swelled above his shorts. Tattoos stained his bare legs. He was bigger than me in a way that had nothing to do with strength.

We were right there, both of us.

“Where’s your special school now?” he went on. “You can’t even hack it in that school for idiots. So what does that make you?”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“You sure about that? Because I used to be like you. A hot shot. Up on stage, thinking I was in the big leagues. Only an idiot would believe that. Keep dreaming, son. You’re never gonna be anything.”

Dad left the kitchen. He didn’t even try to stop me from taking off. It was pretty obvious he didn’t care. I bet he wanted me to go away permanently. Crash my car on the Florida Turnpike and die in a flaming wreck. Yeah, he would probably enjoy that.

I reached for a glass on the table, but it was dirty. Same with the cups in the sink. I leaned over the counter and turned on the faucet. Stuck my head under the cold water. Gulped it down until my throat turned numb.

The sun was fading as I cruised through my old neighborhood. Pippa’s house was on the corner near the canal. As I sped past, I couldn’t help imagining her there on the porch, looking real cute in her checkered tights.